Birdie in a Cage
by linnie kinda spinnie
Summary: Wren's just been arrested. Wanna guess who her cell mate is? One-shot, rated for swearing. **EDITED**


**This is just a little try at a one-shot I wrote awhile ago. It was actually meant to be the first chapter of a multi-chap story, but then my other story Rumour just wouldn't leave me alone so I abandoned this for a little, and when I got around to looking it over a little, I couldn't figure out how to continue.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy it anyways, and remember it's pretty old so the style may be a little different from how I write now. Also, I hate the ending, it's not very original but I can't think of a better way of ending it. Just so ya know.**

**Disclaimer: Own nothing but the Oc's, and if I owned the Joker... Let's just say 2012 would be quite real.**

**p.s. read the note at the end**

*** Edited. The mistakes simply horrified me!**

_**Birdie in a cage**_

"This is bullshit," Wren muttered, wincing at the police officer's grip on her elbow.

"Assaulting a police officer is not bullshit," Officer Fleefe retorted bitterly, bustling her into the station, rubbing at his raw, bloodshot eyes. Okay, so yeah, she had pepper sprayed him, but he had sneaked up behind her like some creeper. Or at least that's how she saw it. In reality, he just happened to be walking down the same alley way. But, in Gotham, the likelihood that being in an alleyway with a good guy was very low. Plus, she had been a little on edge lately. So, it was a very natural thing to whirl around and pepper spray the jerk behind her. Turned out the jerk was an officer. Still a jerk though, 'cause he took the whole thing to heart, and arrested her.

"Look," she tried to reason, but it came off as sarcastic, "I honestly thought you were a bad guy. I mean, aren't women supposed to be all about self -defence in this city? I should be honoured, not arrested," Officer Fleefe just scoffed and led her to the desk. The secretary, without looking up from the computer screen, asked, "What we got? And what's her name?"

"Assaulting an officer and Wren Douglas," Fleefe replied tersely. Wren blew out an annoyed puff air, ruffling her over grown side bangs. Half-heartedly, the secretary typed into the computer. She read Wren's information, her bored expression suddenly becoming one of pity. Wren began to seethe. She _hated_ when people did that.

"Do you have anyone you can call, hun?" she cooed at Wren, and Wren began to shake with anger.

"Probably not," She said through clenched teeth.

"I understand," the secretary smiled compassionately.

_No you don't, _Wren thought.

"I'll take her to the Cage 'til we can reach someone to pay bail for her," Fleefe said gruffly, pulling Wren along with him further into the MCU. Wren's heart beat a little faster at the word _Cage_. She didn't do well with being closed in. It wasn't that she was really claustrophobic. She just didn't like the sensation of not being able to leave a room. It made her panic a little.

"Fleefe," A voice called. Wren and Fleefe turned to see a man with reddish-brown hair, who had a kind but exhausted face, come toward them.

"Commissioner," Fleefe greeted respectfully. Wren felt a little relief. He'd help her out of this situation. Gordon's tired eyes scanned over Wren, who smiled shyly at him.

"Did I hear you say you were taken her to the cage?" Gordon asked Fleefe.

"Yes sir,"

"We're pretty full. Been racking up a lot of mob and gang member's tonight," Gordon scratched at his four o'clock shadow that has been on his face since 4:23. It was now 9:34.

"Well, what about the ones in the back?" Fleefe asked.

_Geez, this guy really wants to see me behind bars,_ Wren thought, maybe a little put off.

"They'll rip her apart," Gordon shook his head, looking down at Wren. A five foot, four inches girl, weighing likely only 115 against a bunch of hardened criminals in a contained place? The thought made his stomach turn a little, thinking of his own daughter, who was only a year older than Wren.

"But the only other one is..." Fleefe drifted off, running a hand through his dishevelled mocha hair. Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Put her with the freak," He said finally, hardly believing his words. Wren's jaw dropped. Everyone knew who the_ freak_ Gordon had referred to was.

"What? No! How can you... after what he's... no. You can't," Wren almost yelled, sputtering her words angrily.

"I'm sorry Wren, but if we put you anywhere else you would be picked clean in seconds," Gordon laid a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.

"Yeah, and _he'll_ eat me alive then regurgitate me, just to tear me apart again! You can't, not after what he's done," Tears of anger and betrayal filled her eyes, but she stubbornly fisted them away.

"I am sorry, Miss Douglas," and deep down she knew he meant it, but she wasn't one to forgive all that quickly.

"We'll have officer's watching you the entire time. Nothing will happen to you," Gordon assured her, leading to her to what she was sure was her doom. They went down a flight of stairs and journeyed deep into the MCU. She hung her head down, not wanting to see the looks on the other officer's face. Whether it was recognition, pity or contempt for being arrested in the first place. She didn't want to see any of it.

Gordon stopped, and she could only assume it was because they had made it to the cell.

She didn't want to look up. She didn't want to look into her personal hell in fear of seeing her personal devil.

"Don't touch her! Don't speak to her, don't even look at her! Got it, clown?" Gordon barked, putting the key into the door and opening the cell door.

"You'll be alright," Gordon told her softly, gently guiding her in, and sitting her on the bench.

"Behave yourself," Gordon snapped, and was replied with a quiet, but no less sinister snicker. The sound caused Wren to jerk her head up, then cringe as she finally got a look at her cell mate.

Once black, but now faded grey paint encircled the monster's eyes. Smeared white paint, almost completely washed off in some of area's on the monster's face, revealing patches of pale, human skin. His purple over coat was missing but he still wore the hunter green waist coat, the dark tie and the periwinkle hexagon covered dress shirt, as well as purple trousers complete with black suspenders. But what really caught her eyes was the faded crimson smile. Glasgow smile, if she was correct. Red paint (or maybe lipstick) spread across puckered, messy looking scars.

The Joker.

She was locked in the cell with Gotham's most notorious, and dangerous criminal.

And he was staring right at her, his dark eyes regarding her curiously. Wren couldn't help it; she stared right back. But not in fear or awe. No, she was seething, her eyes revealing her blatant fury.

The Joker had been thoroughly amused when they had brought the girl into his cell. So, they thought she was better off with _him_ than with a bunch of cliché, rowdy criminal punks? It was almost insulting, but he was happy, and amused to have company, besides the idiot police officer's. When she sat down, refusing to glance at him, he openly studied her. She was petite, but not in a fragile way. Relatively short and slim, almost to the point of being skinny. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks were a healthy peachy colour. Her hair was a strange shade; a bright red-blonde. Called something like strawberry or raspberry blond, he recalled. Pretty. Very pretty. Not his type, though. He was more into buxom blonds with big tits and fear in their eyes.

' _C'mon, pretty, look up. Lemme see those peepers'. _

When Gordon yelled at him to 'behave' and he laughed at the ludicrous order (_behave?)_, she finally looked up at him. For a moment, she looked a little startled as she studied him. He smirked; he loved this moment. He waited excitedly for the fear to creep into her eyes. He waited in vain. Instead, a heated-searing- look came into her strange pale grey-green eyes. The Joker felt the heat from her eyes scorch through him, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant. Just curious and maybe slightly surprising.

He knew that hot, piercing emotion.

Pure hatred.

He'd seen that look many times, especially aimed at him. Police officer's, Gordon, Jeremiah Arkham, Harvey Dent _(Hahahahahaha)_. The Bat Man. But, never from a teeny bopper like the one across the bench from him. Sure, he'd come across many who _did_ likely hate his clowny guts, but when actually facing him, their fear normally over rode said hatred, and instead fear would take solace in their eyes.

Not this curious girl, though. If she did feel fear, her extreme loathing over powered it, making her round, pale eyes pools of angry detestation.

And, she was still staring. She hadn't looked away yet. He cocked his head to the side, his serpentine tongue flicking out to trace his mouth and scars. He noticed she was shaking a little. _Hmm._ Experimenting, he scooted a little closer toward her on the bench, getting a fierce warning from one of the offices, but the Joker ignored it. He watched her; studying her reactions. She didn't move back or flinch away as one might think a girl in her situation would have. Instead, her round eyes narrowed further, and her upper lip (he noted she had a nice mouth; naturally a peachy pink, with a fuller bottom lip, but not in an obnoxiously pouty way) curled upward, baring her teeth. The gesture reminded him of a wolf. It didn't help that her eye teeth seemed abnormally elongated and sharp.

The cell mates stared at each other for a good three minutes.

Until one of them broke the silence.

"Hi..." the Joker greeted her with mock sheepishness, going for a kindergartener's-first- day feel.

"Shut yer' mouth clown," Fleefe ordered, hitting the cage's bars with his baton. The Joker rolled his eyes before placing them back on the girl. Would she say something back?

Wren glared at the Joker, willing her eyes to show all the disgust she felt for the man -thing - in the cell with her.

Wait. Did he just say hello to her? Did he expect her to say hello back?_ Fuck no,_ she thought. But, she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to just stare at him. His eyes, rimmed and sooty, were unnerving and frightening. They were analytical, and curious. She didn't like that. She hadn't wanted to pique his interest. She just couldn't control or hide her hatred for the man (clown).

Finally, his tunnel-like black eyes were too overwhelming to look at. Wren hid her discomfort with a scowl, and turned her body away, wrapping her arms around herself to keep them from shaking. She gritted her teeth together when he let out a breezy chuckle.

_Don't let him get to you, _she reminded herself.

To keep herself calm- or an attempt to- she hummed softly to herself. It was no particular song or recognizable tune. Just a little melody that was always with her.

She finally did something predictable. Facing away from him. The Joker inched a little closer to her, listening closely. She was humming quietly, but it wasn't a tune he recognized. But, after a couple moments of listening, he got the rhythm and began tapping his foot along to her tune. He grinned when she tensed, but she refused to turn back around. She did continue to hum, though.

'_Stubborn little thing'._

Soon, as they repeated the melody over and over, the Joker also began to whistle, creating their own little orchestra. _Maybe I was a musician at one point,_ he mused. He doubted he'd dwell on that theory though. He came up with a new one almost every day. Yesterday he was sure he used to be plastic surgeon. Would explain the need to slice through skin. He scooted closer to her, doing it subtly so the stupid, paranoid poe-poe wouldn't notice. He was now right beside her, close enough to feel her body heat.

"Whaddya call that tune-_nah_, honey-bunch?" he asked quietly, just loud enough for her to hear. No need for pesky old Fleefe to listen on their little conversation. He giggled a little when she jerked in surprise and spun in her seat. Even sitting, he towered over her. She really was a teeny little thing. She looked up at him, her pretty lips (_perfect for slicing)_ parted. Upon closer inspection he noticed her eyes were really very round, and rather than greenish-grey like he had thought they were, they were a peculiar shade of green. A sea-foam green if he remembered his crayon colours correctly.

'_Strange, strange, strange_.'

Not to mention eerie. Their paleness was almost ghostlike. He watched again as fire began to consume them as her surprise wore off.

"Get away from me," she whispered fiercely. She didn't have an annoyingly high pitched, squeaky voice like some women had. Usually, his broads had husky voice from too much smoking. But her voice was a middle octave. And very fierce, almost growly. He _liked_ that.

He frowned comically, pulling on a hurt face.

"Wha'd I do?" he asked innocently, feigning confusion.

"I think the list of what you haven't done would be a little easier, and shorter to recite," she snarled, moving back a little. Damn, she didn't have much bench left to retreat on. He raised his paint covered brow, then quickly covered his red mouth to stifle his wild cackles. This laugh, though muffled, triggered terrible memories and Wren wrenched herself up from her seat and strode to the other side of the cage, leaning against the bars for support.

"Awe, honey, don't be like that-_tah_," he mocked her, still muffling his laughter. She opened the eyes she hadn't realized she had shut and saw he was now laying across the bench on his back, enveloping almost all of it with his long, gangly limbs. His head was facing her, and he tilted it back so he could see her upside down. Wren so badly wanted to wipe off that smug grin of his, but she knew she'd only take off the paint over top it. The real smile was beneath the clown get-up. It was hard to picture him without it, to see him as a human.

"So," he said conversationally, raising his hand (which she noticed was glove-less) to inspect his nails, "What're you in for?"

Was this normal? Was he always _chatty_ like this when the police would catch him, which wasn't often because he has a nasty habit of escaping and not being caught again until months and months later. Wren looked around the room, noticing that it wasn't like the other rooms with cells. Well, it looked the same, except that it held only one, slightly smaller cage, unlike the other rooms which had two or more cages, both larger than this one's.

_Must be like solitary confinement,_ she thought.

Maybe that's why he was speaking to her. There was no one else there _to_ talk to. Besides Fleefe and some other unimportant officer. Wren stared at the Joker, hatred still eating at her, contemplating answering him. If she didn't, he would be annoyed, a thought she liked. But also if she didn't answer, he might think she was afraid of him. Which she _**was**_ but she sure as hell didn't want him to know that.

Finally, she sighed, maybe a little bitterly, "Assaulting a police officer."

The Joker, ignoring his nails now, tipped his head further back to look at the strange girl across the cell from him. He grinned evilly, chuckling wheezily, still a little sore from his tussle with the Bat.

"Which one-_nah_?" he asked mischievously, glancing at the two officer's "guarding" them, who were discussing a hockey game animatedly.

"Brunette," Wren replied, jerking her head toward Fleefe. Upon hearing his name, Fleefe looked up and seeing that she wasn't being physically harmed by any clowns, continued on about Sydney Crosby.

"Wha'd you do? Kick 'im in the balls? The shins?... Oooh, didya' tay-zer-_rah_ him?" the Joker giggled. Personally, he thought she looked like a shin kicker.

"Pepper spray," she muttered.

"Pepper spray-_ah_?" he echoed, and then began to hoot hysterically with laughter, clutching his green stomach, tears smudging his greasy makeup further.

"Shut the fuck up, Bozo!" the other officer, whose name Wren did not know, barked. Ignoring him, the Joker asked her though his laughter, "Why'd... ah- what- wha'd he, heh, wha'd he do to dah-serve being pep-er sprayed?"

"Snuck up on me. Thought he was someone like... you," Wren replied, not caring if she came off rude or upset him. The clown's laughter ceased, and he frowned, the expression pulling his macabre red smile down a little as his skin stretched.

"What-_suh_ that supposed tah' mean honey-bunch?" he asked, his voice dropping several octaves. Wren noticed his voice was strange. High pitched, nasally and clowny, breaking up words and enunciating words strangely. Not to mention he smacked his lips a lot when he talked. His speech pattern and pitch was so erratic. One minute it was high pitched, the next, like now, it was low and maybe a little husky.

"Bad guys. Crooks. _Villains_. Guys like you. I don't wanna run into guys like you, so I keep pepper spray in my purse. I thought Fleefe was a crook, so I acted on impulse," why was she explaining herself to him? It was those eyes, she realized, pulling her own from his dark ones. They penetrate and wiggle in, loosening her tongue. The Joker made a low 'hmm' noise in his throat, eyeing her quizzically, trying to figure her out. She shuddered, and looked away from the mad clown. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander out of the cage. Hell, completely out of Gotham. She thought of rain forests and grassy meadows. Green, mostly. A colour Gotham seriously lacked.

The Joker ran his tongue over his lips as he watched the girl. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene and content and her body relaxed. He wondered where her mind wandered off to, and why? Was he not _interesting_ enough? He scowled, growing bored once again. He let out a frustrated huff, and was delighted when he saw her open her eyes.

"I, ah, never did-_duh_ tell ya why _I'm_ here," he raised his brows, trying to spark up a conversation. Wren rolled her eyes.

"Never asked," she replied icily, "Besides, it's not that hard to imagine what you could have possibly done to get caught. Hell, you probably _wanted_ to get caught, so you can blow the MCU up again, which they JUST finished building, by the way,"

Her voice held so much contempt, it almost stung him. He was admittedly a little baffled by this girl. Why did she hate him so much? He searched his hazy, almost dreamlike memories, trying to figure out if she had ever been a hostage or something like that. He didn't think so; he would've remembered her. Plus, she probably wouldn't have survived if she was one of his hostages. Her pretty mouth looked so nice to cut into, he wouldn't have been able to help himself. No, the Joker had never met this small woman-child before. So, he deduced that he probably hurt/mutilated and or killed someone she loved, or some crap like that.

"C'mon, I let ya tell me _your_ story. Why don-_tah_ ya wanna hear, ah, _mine_?" he narrowed his eyes dangerously.

_For a clown, he sure does have a good glare,_ Wren thought, glaring right back at him.

"'Cos' I don't like horror stories," she snapped, her patience for the clown wearing thin. His glare morphed into a lopsided grin, showing his yellowed teeth. Her mouth curled in disgust; she'd never seen a more repulsive creature. He chuckled quietly and sat up, pointing a dirty finger at her.

"You," he said, wagging that finger, "Are a ri-ot. I like you. What's your name, honey-bunch?"

_Oh no. No WAY is this nut job gonna know my name,_ Wren thought, her eyes widening at his words.

She shook her head, not even wanting to talk again in fear of her name accidentally spilling out of her mouth. The Joker frowned comically, hunching and leaning his frame toward her. His stance reminded her of a jungle cat, ready to lunge. She was thankful for the good distance between them.

"'Wha's wrong, darlin'? Forgot your name-_muh_? Or are ya jus' playing hard to get-_tuh_?" he said in a low, maybe even menacing voice. She didn't like that voice; it was laced with a threat. She shivered and bit her lower lip, breaking eye contact. She heard a rustle of clothing, and her wide eyes swung back to the Joker, who was now standing. She noticed his gait and frame was very uneven, maybe a little lopsided, like a teenager, just more filled out and built. His neck hunched, making him even more menacing looking. His head was bowed a little, his green-tinted hair falling limply around his down cast face. But his eyes, they were on her. Two endless tunnels, filled with dark flames stared at her from under his brows. He rolled his tongue against his inner cheeks, and his hands clenched and unclenched. He took a step toward her.

"Don't come near me," she hissed, backing up further against the bars, her hatred for this beast flaming. But, her fear for him was also in the inferno, and was starting to extinguish the fire. A small smirk played at his crimson lips.

"Yeah? What you gon' do bout it?" he sneered, taking another ominous step toward her.

"The officer's will come and-"

"_Honey-bunch_," he interrupted, grinning sadistically, "I've killed a guy before in less than _five_ seconds, with a pencil no less... Yeah, the officer, it would take him, oh, I don't know, thirty seconds to fin-al-ly get in here. Not to mention he might-_tah_, uh, _panic _a little when he tries to open the cage door-ah. Might-_tah_ _fumble_ a little. That gives me forty seconds now. Imagine, hun-_uh_, what I can do tah_ you_ in forty seconds with. My .Bare. Hands," he wheezed out a short, bark-like laugh, advancing slowly toward her. He could see her shaking; it made him smile. But, he could still traces of that burning hatred in her wide eyes; that kinda turned him on.

"So, wanna tell me your name-_muh_ now, hun?" he whispered, now arms length away from her. She pushed herself into the bars, her hands gripping them tightly, willing herself to squeeze though them, like in that one super hero movie she had watched. She gulped, looking over at Fleefe, seeing he and the other officer were distracted by some video on YouTube. The Joker had a point; he could easily kill her, without even breaking a sweat. She jumped and made a soft hissing noise when the Joker slammed his hands around the bars at either side of her head, boxing her in. She shuddered in disgust and coiled her body away from his while he leaned his head toward her.

"Tell...Me," he whispered huskily in her left ear, before ducking his head and whispering in her right ear, "You're... Name," his hot breath on her neck was her undoing.

"Wren," she stated quietly, trying to keep the waver out of her voice.

"Like the bird," she added as an afterthought.

She hated when people mistook her for Ren, Renn or something like that. She liked her name, and what it meant. All the women in her family were named after birds, (even when they merged with other families, the women would insist on bird names for their daughters) and technically ancestors since the bird names have been recycled. Her aunt's names were Lark and Alouette and her grandmother (and her father's mother) had been named Raven. Wren also had several cousins; Robin, Jay, Heron, Starling. While she liked her name, she was a bit envious of the name Starling. A name like that got you noticed. And, she was. Her aunt Lark's daughter was a singer/actress and gorgeous, possessing the trademark 'Douglas Girl' sunny blond hair. Where Wren got her hair, she wasn't sure. She was told she looked a little like her namesake, and great cousin Wren II, who passed away long before Wren III was ever born. She admitted it was kind of cool that she was 'Wren the third'. It reminded her of the book 'Holes'.

"_Wre-nuh," _he rolled the name, experimenting the sound of it on his tongue and with his mouth. He liked it; it was a small, sweet sounding name, much like he suspected she was. Well, the small part anyways. But, as he recalled, and fuck if he knows how and where learned it, a wren was a small, plain brown bird, not at all like this little birdie in front of him. Although he did see the humour _(of course he did_) of the name. A little birdie trapped in a cage, at the mercy of the bad 'ol putty tat. He tried not to think about how in those cartoons, the little yellow bird always managed to outsmart the cat.

"I told you my name, so get away from me now," Wren snarled, baring her sharp eye teeth. She looked almost... _Dangerous_ like that.

If he wasn't turned on before, he sure as hell was now.

But, because he was _such_ a gentleman, he stepped away from her, putting his hands up in mock surrender, and backing up towards the bench. He sat down, and Wren allowed her shoulder to lose some of the tension in them. The Joker smirked, seeing her relief.

'_Silly little bird_.'

Her eyes still on him, he pat the spot on the bench beside him. Her eyes widened a little, and she sucked her bottom lip, glancing at the officer's, then back at him, weighing her options. When he grimaced a little, licking his lips and clenching his fists in warning, she sighed quietly and moved hesitantly toward the bench. She didn't sit next to him, on the spot he had pat, but a much further down. He let it slide, _just this once_. He crossed his ankles, flashing his mismatched socks (they took away his shoes. Seems someone caught onto the little, _sharp_ surprises he kept in his dress shoes), and put his hands in his lap, leaning his head back against the bars, regarding her lazily. She kept her gaze on him levelly, her eyes betraying her anxiety, and of course, her hatred. He wondered, if with a little_ gentle_ persuasion, she's let him in on the reason behind her contempt.

"How long-_ah_ will it take for ya tah be, ah, bailed out, precious?" the Joker asked out of the blue.

Wren closed her eyes and almost groaned. There was no one in the city that she knew that could come pay her bail. The closest person was Aunt Lark, over in Metropolis, but she has baby Robin to take care of. She hated the thought of being locked up with this... _Psycho_ all night. She didn't know if she'd be able to control herself, and begin raging and attacking at him. This truly was the last place she wanted to be.

"I dunno," she mumbled briefly, not wanting to engage in conversation. Maybe he'd get the hint.

"May-be yah should-_duh_ ask fer' your _phone call_," Apparently not. She dug her nails into her palms as he chuckled to himself at some inside joke. The sound of the Joker's laughter was terribly grating, not to mention scary as fuck.

"_Why_ are you talking to me?" she snapped, her voice scathing and venomous. He blinked a couple times in feigned surprise.

"_Whyyyyyy _not-_tuh_?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, dragging his tongue over his scars. The Joker watched her struggle for the right words; he could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

"Don't you have something _better_ to do?" she inquired, her face twisted in her disgust for him. It was kinda starting to bother him now; why did she hate him so much? He looked around the fluorescent lit room.

"Not real-ly," he said a little sarcastically, inclining his head toward her and squinting one eye. She scoffed and turned her body away from him, folding her arms over her chest. He pouted his puckered, red lips and shimmied closer to her. Looking at him through her peripherals, she noticed his movement, and Wren lost it. She leapt off the bench, twirling around to face him, so positively enraged that it almost hurt.

"Get the_ fuck_ away from me," she almost yelled, her cheeks red, her eyes flashing with hatred and her breaths coming out in short, angry puffs. Impressed and thoroughly amused by her outburst, the Joker leaned forward nonchalantly, resting his hands on his spread legs.

"You," he paused a moment, thinking of the right words to say, "Have a-lot of, ah, _anger_ in ya, huh?"

"Fuck you," she fumed, her clenched fists trembling by her sides. He winced a little. Why, _why_ do people always hafta swear at him? He doesn't do it to them. It's just not... Classy. And he, oh he was _all_ about appearances and class.

"And that _anger_," the Joker continued, deciding to ignore her little cuss, "Must stem from _somewhere_, honey-bunch." he rubbed his grubby hands together in anticipation, grinning a little. Was she gonna tell him now?

"Don't_ pretend_ like you know me. You _don't_ know me." Wren raged, clenching her teeth so hard she could almost taste one of her old fillings.

"Well-_uh_," he drawled, his voice suddenly deeper and more lethargic," May-be if ya told me why you're so, um, _frustrated_ with lil 'ol me, then maybe I _can_ know ya a lil more, hmm?" he twirled his hand for emphasis, prompting her.

"You don't simply frustrate me." Wren spat, "You completely disgust me. You are the most heinous, disgusting huma –_**thing**_ -that I've come across. Your complete disregard for a person's life is revolting. I hate you. You are so completely repugnant to me. And what's worse is you know, you know what you're doing is vile and evil, but you don't care. As long as you get some attention, get attention and prove your_ fucking _point." she finished, her chest heaving and her entire frame shaking from her fury. She didn't care that tears of anger and frustration were pouring down her face. She had, during her rant made her way right in front of him, basically barking in the clown's face. Wren was actually surprised that Fleefe hadn't intervened yet. The Joker, taking in both her words and form, knit his chalky brows together.

"Yanno, ya just used a _lot_ of fancy words-_suh_ there, for, ah, _hatred_ and _anger_, which was swell and all, if I was in need of a the-saur-us, but we have yet-_tuh _to explore the reason behind said anger and hay-tred," he leaned his face toward her's threateningly . She didn't flinch or back off, simply stared up at him with those strange burning, pale eyes.

"Why does it matter? You think I expect you to apologize? I'm not stupid or naive." she retorted, brushing her over grown bangs impatiently out of her face.

"Your right-_tuh_, and never said ya were, but I've heard that it, ah, helps to talk-_kuh _about it, or something like that," he tried for a friendly smile, but it came out deranged and malicious.

"My last name is Douglas," Wren said suddenly. The Joker blinked, flashing his black eye lids for a millisecond. He sucked on his lips, looking at her quizzically, waiting for her to elaborate.

"The name means nothing to you?" he nodded, "What about Brian?" he shook his head, his acidic green hair flying around his pasty face. She growled out a breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. She took a step back, and her eyes flashed open, glinting in the harsh over head lights.

"Tell them your name," she said in a soft, yet patronizing voice. He frowned; did her mind decide to break?

He knew he was able to do that to a person, and if the little bird's brain just did shatter, that would be his record time.

"Are you the _**real **_Batman?" she continued, her face void of emotion (except in her eyes), her voice high pitched and eerily excited. His paint covered eyes widened a fraction.

'_No way...'_

"_No?_ No? Then why do you dress like him?" she ended in a slight growl. She paused, like she was listening to some invisible person talk, before continuing. But this time, the Joker joined.

"_Yeeeeah_, you do, Brian," they said together, "You_ really_ do,"

"So you think Batman's made Gotham a better place, hmm?" The Joker recited, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

"Look at me," Wren said softly, "** .ME!**" she shrieked suddenly, her voice demonic, getting right in the Joker's face.

"_Hey_!" Fleefe suddenly hollered, beginning to run toward the cage.

"You killed him," Wren spoke in a deadly whisper, her face inches from the criminal, who had a full blown smile now.

"You degraded him," she continued in a hushed tone as Fleefe struggled to open the cell.

"You put him on display, for all of Gotham to see. You flaunted your power over us all, using him as your fucking puppet," she growled.

"You marked him, butchered him and painted all over him. Then you strung him up, further displaying your authority, further proving your point. Because you're a _fucking _man of your word," her hand itched; she wanted to hit him, even though she knew it wouldn't really hurt him. But, fuck, it would make her feel better. But, Fleefe had finally managed to get into the cell, and was struggling to drag her out.

"You killed my uncle!" She screeched, fighting against Fleefe. The Joker, by now was laughing so hard that he was on the ground, clutching his sides. Fleefe finally managed to get Wren out of there, seeking out the Commissioner.

After quite some time, the Joker sat, his legs splayed out in front of him, sitting in a very child-like position. He chuckled wheezily to himself, trying to catch his breath. He had thought, on a couple of occasions, about what would happen if a member of the family, or friend, of a victim of his were to have the pleasure of meeting him. Guess it finally happened.

_And it didn't disappoint_

_**End**_

**Ok, two things.**

**One, did anyone catch a familiar character from my other story? (Besides Jokey-poo, of course)**

**And the 2****nd**** thing is I feel like I developed Wren enough that if I had a stroke of inspiration I could take her and make a multi-chap story like I had originally intended. I even have a bit of an idea, but as I said, I need a little more inspiration.**

**So, if you think that a story with Wren and the Joker would be worth reading, then send me a review. If not, perhaps review anyway? I can't guarantee that even with reviews I'll write a sequel to this, but I will consider it a little deeper.**

**Anywho, thank you for reading, criticism and advice is always welcome.**

_**linnie kinda spinnie**_


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